


The Land of Milk and Honey

by YoungestThunderbird



Series: Arcadia [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Case Fic, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Wolffe loves his buir and little sister, for sake of the plot, minor OCs - Freeform, no angst this time!, no romantic relationships, simplified politics, that loves each other very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungestThunderbird/pseuds/YoungestThunderbird
Summary: Wolffe, Katooni, and Master Koon go on an arbitration mission for a small planet. It goes mostly well.
Relationships: CC-3636|Wolffe & Katooni, Katooni & Plo Koon, Katooni & Plo Koon & CC-3636|Wolffe, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: Arcadia [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939405
Comments: 16
Kudos: 351





	The Land of Milk and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> My first case fic! I hope I did okay. Comments are appreciated, I've never done anything like this before, and would appreciate a critique. Please be nice though, no flames.  
> There's still a near-toothrotting amount of fluff, though, so don't worry.  
> Notes on the title: the Land of Milk and Honey is another name for Canan in the Old Testament/Torah. I thought it appropriate for the pastoral roots of my fictional planet.

It was a fairly ordinary session of the Council, in that there were no ordinary Council sessions any ore. Yoda had never known such upheaval in the history of the Order. Then again, the Light danced in the periphery of every Force-sensitive’s vision like it never had in his lifetime. Perhaps they were following the Will of the Force. 

Yoda simply sat on the seat and watched the deliberations of the Council. It had been three months since Habitat Fleet had settled on Dantooine, and the colony was going well. Agriculture was being established, but for now, the hydroponics facilities mixed with the staggering amount of rations accumulated by both the Jedi and the Clones would keep everyone fed for years.

The Council had begun to deliberate on returning to the Jedi Order’s mandate as peacekeepers. The comm line that they had left the Senate to contact them with had a small number of messages, each from a single planetary government, or sometimes groups of them. The messages, as requested, detailed the problem and the proposed solution the Jedi would implement, along with a description of the urgency of a problem. 

The entire Council, plus the Clone Marshall Commanders and whatever other Clone Commanders had time to attend, then viewed the recordings and decided what to do about them. Sometimes Clone squadrons were dispatched as bodyguards to important heads of state. Sometimes Jedi were dispatched to negotiate treaties. Sometimes both were dispatched at once for a particularly thorny problem. 

It had worked out somewhat well so far, though it did take precious Council time to sort through the messages and figure out priority.

So far, Ima-gun Di had been assigned a simple courier mission to help ease him back into the field after a recent injury.

Commander Fox had been dispatched to bodyguard the Pantoran Senator on a trip to her native planet; Commander Thire had volunteered his absent brother with laughing eyes.

Skywalker and Kenobi had been assigned to an interplanetary conflict between former Separatist and Republic loyalist systems.

Mace, Depa, Commander Ponds, Commander Grey, Caleb, and their men had been sent to try and clear out pirates from the local hyperspace lanes. Not every pirate was as welcoming and as useful as Honda Ohnaka. 

Though that pirate could be very annoying. He’d tried to kidnap Kenobi just last week, only to be chased away by the man’s Commanders with help from Skywalker’s crew. There was simply no way to prepare for Alpha-17 and Cody working together. Especially when it was to protect their Jedi. 

The holomessage of least priority was from a king on a minor planet called Rurasi, asking for a negotiations team to try and de-escalate a conflict between two rival political factions. It wasn’t a war, and was unlikely to become one; both factions were staunch pacifists. They simply had radically different views on a simple matter; whether to industrialize the planet, or to carry on the pastoral and agricultural traditions of their forebears. 

The planet itself was of no great danger either. It was a smaller, temperate planet, good for growing many fruits, vegetables, and grains at certain times of year. It also had some resources that could serve it well for industry; for example, deposits of metals and rare minerals that were worth a great deal when refined. It was inhabited by a humanoid species with slightly green skin, thought to be a genetic cross between Twi’lek and Human colonists many thousands of years ago. 

The culture was the only obstacle to the Jedi Order. It was very clan-centric, due to the pastoral roots of the society. Who a person’s father and mother was, what village they were from, and where they currently lived were all vitally important markers of identity. 

However, the most important mark of status was raising children. All the most important negotiators were accompanied by at least two of their offspring, no matter the age of the children. A diplomat was judged by how well-cared-for the children were, how he interacted with them, and how they behaved in differing situations. 

Jedi had been to this planet before, and while they did succeed in mediating the negotiations there, many citizens were quite disturbed by how distant many Jedi held themselves from their Padawans, and how reserved many Padawans were even when outside meetings. 

This task required a nontraditional Jedi. Not overly reserved, especially outside the conference room, but a good mediator. Friendly and welcoming, the traits prized by the pastoral-agriculturists, but also intelligent, the ideal trait of the industrialists. Finally, a Jedi with a large group of people of varying ages that they would feel comfortable playing head-of-family to.

Every head in the Council room swiveled to Plo Koon. He looked up from the infant Clone he was holding; the Wolfpack had just decanted their first batch of Tubies and everyone was on baby-enrichment duty for the time being. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He asked innocently. 

...

Katooni was incredibly excited, enough to jump around a little. They probably wouldn’t scold her for un-Jedilike behavior before her first mission. 

She had her first mission! She was going on a diplomatic mediation! She was going to be a real Jedi Padawan!

She scurried around packing her things for the mission. She made sure to bring a full field kit; you never knew what could happen. Then she polished her armor and pressed her robes, to make sure they looked spiffy. She even made sure to touch up the painted nexu on her chestplate, making sure the fine details of teeth and claws were perfect. 

She ran into Wolffe in the hallway, literally. After she accepted his hand up from the floor (when two objects power walking at equal speed collide, the one with greater mass wins), she launched at him in a hug. 

“It’s my first peacekeeping mission!” She carefully did not yell, but simply said enthusiastically. Yelling was improper for Jedi Padawans. 

Wolffe hugged her back, his mouth twitching up a bit. He didn’t smile much even now, but he was always gentle with her. He showed his love for her in other ways. 

One of those ways was the meiloorun he handed her, perfectly ripe and sweet. It was her favorite fruit. He somehow always knew when she hadn’t eaten for more than six hours and made sure to bring her something.

“I know. It’s my first peacekeeping mission too,” Wolffe mentioned, “Why am I going on a peacekeeping mission?”

“You’re going?” Katooni asked. This was the first she had heard such a thing. 

It wasn’t unusual for Clones and Jedi to be assigned jointly on missions, but generally those were more combat-intensive problems, like the pirates that Zatt’s family was hunting. 

“I was ordered to report to the consular ship at 1400 today, with you and Buir. I’m not exactly trained for diplomacy,”. Wolffe mentioned sardonically. 

Katooni thought carefully of the mission dossier she had been given. 

“Rurasi culture places great importance on family. A diplomat is judged by his relationship with his children,” she said thoughtfully. 

“Ah yes, everything makes sense now,” Wolffe deadpanned, “Our legion was chosen for this task due to our proficiency at adopting each other.”

“Well, we are the best!” Katooni replied cheerily. Wolffe just shrugged and put his arm across her shoulder. 

They wandered to the hangar and embarked without incident. The consular flight was about a day long, so they spent the time resting and briefing on the situation. It seemed a relatively simple negotiation; both parties were already leading toward the obvious solution of industrializing the cities and leaving the rural areas pastoral to feed the industrial workers, but the details needed to be hammered out. 

The tricky bit was that the Rurasi had a tradition of taking offense to anything worded in an even moderately offensive way, and would ignore or shun the offending party. It naturally made negotiations very difficult, since offenses could be as minor as using the plural instead of singular pronoun. 

Katooni was glad her Master was to do most of the talking. He was clever and wise, and he knew how to make people think he was completely innocent of whatever he had done. How else would a man with such strong adoptive impulses get onto the Jedi Council under the old Code?

They landed, again without incident, meeting the chief delegates from each faction. The Pastags, or Pastoral Agriculturalists, had sent a solidly built woman with an honest face, wearing simple but obviously new clothes. The Dustis, or industrialists, had sent a man in a beautiful, ornate suit with matching shoes, with his hair artfully held up above his shrewd eyes by some sort of product. 

Both were the epitome of politeness to the Jedi delegation. The Dusti man introduced himself first; Rurasi tradition dictated that the youngest party had the responsibility of starting acquaintance. 

“I am Donvan Camson, formerly of Murasi, currently of Restan, father to three. I am honored to make your acquaintance. Accompanying me today are my children Wesdin and Lilot.” 

He gestured to an older teenage boy and an adult woman standing behind her, both immaculately groomed, with ornate clothes and slicked hair. 

The Pastag woman stepped forward next, and stuck her hand out for a shake. 

“I’m Arta Elnorsdottr, formerly and currently of Amton, mother to four. It’s good to meet you. My daughters are Dasy and Maryan,” she said, gesturing to a preteen girl and a teenage girl standing with him. Both were dressed in simple but pretty dresses and practical shoes, with hair tied back, and both nodded in greeting. 

“I am Plo Koon, formerly of Dorin, currently of the Dantooine Enclave, father to 1,243.”

Both representatives’ eyebrows went up. 

“They are adopted,” Master Plo explained, “Most are men from my legion. My children accompanying me at the moment are Katooni and Wolffe.”

Representative Elnorsdottr grimaced but nodded. 

“Horrible business, war,” she said, “I’m glad you and your boys have each other.”

Representative Camson simply nodded stiffly and changed the subject. 

“Our children will show your escort to your quarters. If you would please proceed to the conference room,” he gestured along the landing pad. Representative Elnorsdottr looked irritated at her but said nothing. 

It took Katooni only a short while to figure out the magnitude of the insult that Representative Camson had given both her Master and his children by refusing to acknowledge them as such. She signaled to her brother to be on alert, and then followed the four locals to their quarters. 

...

Wolffe had a bad feeling about this mission even before Katooni gave the danger-sign en route to their suite. Something about the place just rubbed him wrong. 

The Dustis were standoffish and borderline insulting. Yes, he understood what the Representative refusing to admit that they were their Buir’s kids meant. He’d read the cultural packet on the consular. And he was mad about it, so he practiced first-level shunning, another concept from the cultural packet, on the Dusti boy when the kid referred to them as attachés. 

First-level shunning was easy. You refused to make eye contact or use their name. Wolffe did that all the time with his brothers when he was mad at them. 

When they were settled into the suite and had swept it for bugs and cameras, he called a campfire in the common room. 

There wasn’t much furniture; only a couch and a caf table. He sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him to get Katooni to sit down. She did, and leaned against him lightly. 

Katooni was the best little sister. She liked hugs, and she wasn’t scared of him. Best of all, she had started working on making sure the Littles back home weren’t scared of him either. 

The first time he had walked in on her telling a bedtime story to the Littles of his adventures with the Wolffepack, he nearly shed tears. 

“Something’s off,” Wolffe growled, “The locals are acting weird.” 

Katooni nodded. 

“Let’s contact Sinker, Comet, and Boost,” she suggested, “They have access to the archives if necessary, and they might help talk this out.”

It was a good idea, Wolffe thought. And not just because he missed the idiots. They commed their brothers and explained the situation, ending with Katooni’s analysis of the diplomat’s behavior. 

“The Jedi were led to believe that both parties requested meditation. This hostility is odd in that regard,” she said. 

Sinker shook his head. 

“I don’t think it’s resentment against a mediator. I think it’s because Buir’s kids are all adopted. You said they didn’t get funny until after he motioned that,” he proposed. 

“The cultural packet didn’t mention anything about adoption being a problem, and it wasn’t a problem the last time Jedi mediated here,” Wolffe noted. 

“Did the Jedi actually tell the Rurasi that their apprentices were adopted?” Comet asked. 

Katooni had her datapad out and began looking through the database. 

“It was a Master, their Knighted former Padawan, and their current Padawan who had this assignment last time. It was probably pretty obvious they weren’t biologically related,” she said, turning the datapad around. Holos of an older male Twi’lek, a young adult Weequay, and a small Human girl stared back at them. 

“Yeah, probably. But it should also be pretty obvious that we’re not biologically related either,” Boost put in. 

He wasn’t wrong, Wolffe reflected as he smoothed Katooni’s head-tendrils down. She leaned further into his side in response, and he put his arm over her shoulders. 

“But you did say that they automatically assumed you were aides. Perhaps they made the same assumption last time?” Boost put forward. 

Sinker cut in, “Or maybe they just didn’t have a problem with it last time.”

Katooni decided to play Corellian Devil’s Advocate.

“Maybe the problem just wasn’t mentioned in the archives,” she suggested. Wolffe gave her a skeptical look.

“From what you said, the Pastags didn’t appear to take issue with adoption,” Comet contributed, “So we should narrow our search to the Dustis.”

Their musings were interrupted by a knock on the suite door. Wolffe checked the holofeed outside to see their Buir standing with a sheaf of flimsiplast in his hands, so he opened the door, invited the man in, and took the sheaf to the table. 

Wolffe nodded in greeting, and said, “Buir, I’m concerned about the reception we got.”

Plo smiled. It was the kind of smile he gave the Jedi Council when he was trying to tweak their noses by being deliberately obtuse and innocent. Wolffe braced himself. 

“Hello, concerned-about-the-reception-we-got, I’m Buir.”

Sinker collapsed laughing at the joke, though his vode (2) all groaned and Wolffe buried his face in his hands. Wolffe and Katooni shuffled over on the couch to make room for one more to sit. It was a tight fit, but they managed. 

“Buir,” Wolffe took his face out of his hands to continue, “I really am concerned. The Dusti kids refused to treat us as anything their than attachés, which is an incredible breach of etiquette in their culture and doesn’t speak to good negotiations. Should we request another team be sent on this mission instead? Perhaps two masters who are unrelated?” 

“It wouldn’t help. The reason that Representative Camson and his children were leery of us is tied to current events, not a cultural stigma that was missed in the briefing,” Plo said.

“Master Nu is vindicated; her Archives remain complete,” murmured Katooni. 

“Hush Katooni,” Plo murmured, “Thou shalt not speak ill of Master Curators, you never know when they’ll be listening. 

“Recently, the Rurasi planetary foster and adoption services were revealed to be incredibly corrupt, and that many of the children adopted or fostered in them were abused in terrible ways. 

“This corruption was often worse in the larger cities; in the rural areas, parentless children were not often entered into the system but instead sent to relatives and watched over by the community. Thus, the Dustis are more familiar with the problem and are concerned about adoption than their Pastag counterparts,” Buir finished.

“They think you’re abusing us?” Comet was incredulous. 

“Perhaps,” Buir allowed, “They may also be concerned that you were formerly my subordinates in the military before I adopted you. There is little we can do; most of the other Jedi qualified for this mission have the same stigma against them. We simply must complete the negotiations with as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. We will be under close scrutiny, myself especially if I am alone with you. I would like to request that helmets be worn as little as possible; I don’t wish them to believe that you are hiding bruises.” 

Wolffe nodded. He hadn’t expected to wear a helmet to a diplomatic briefing anyway. 

This would be interesting. 

...

Plo couldn’t say he was happy. The thought of anyone hurting children was deeply troubling to him. The first time one of his sons had opened up to him about Kamino, he had hugged his son for several minutes and then gone to his own quarters and cried. To be thought to be hurting his beloved children was... painful. 

After the holocall ended with promises of further research and greetings passed to and from the Littles, Plo simply wrapped his arms around his son and daughter and held them for a while. He wished he could hug the rest. 

He missed Master Tyvokka. His Master would have had the answer for this conundrum and a hug for him as well, but he was one with the Force. He simply hugged his children and remembered, and that was enough. Especially when they hugged back. 

“There is a dinner we are expected to attend,” he murmured. 

“I suppose we should be in public as much as possible,” returned Wolffe, “But Buir, I have a request.”

“Don’t we all?” Plo couldn’t help but sass back. Wolffe would know he didn’t mean anything by it. 

“I’d like to wear one of your spare outfits. As an expression of solidarity,” Wolffe was slightly nervous, Plo could tell, but reasonably confident in his request. Good. That mean Plo was getting through to his sons about personhood and reasonable requests. And that he would love them no matter what they asked, kark it. 

He may have been irritated at the Kaminoans the day he said that, but his men were delighted. Boost had embroidered the saying on throw pillows and put them in the rec room. 

He wondered if he could pick up embroidery floss here for Boost. It was harder to find on core worlds, due to the archaic nature of the art, so Boost just unraveled spare blacks and used those. But here, they probably would at least have colored thread for sale. And maybe some oil paints for Comet. 

He forced himself to think of the son in front of him and not one of the many that he missed. 

“Of course, Wolffe. Though I’m not sure how they will fit over your armor,” he smiled. 

“Let me worry about that, Buir,” Wolffe suggested. 

Watching Wolffe wrestling with the robes, Plo had to agree that his son was probably the better qualified person to try and merge traditional robes with full armor. 

“How did you know how to do that?” He asked, when Wolffe had managed a functional, even graceful, merger of the two. 

Wolffe pointed at Katooni, who was... wearing the same configuration of armor and robes. He had simply assumed that she had armor specially designed to go with robes, but apparently not. 

“The Commanders had a chat about how to get Jedi to wear armor. We did practical experimentation with some of the Padawans and came up with this,” he gestured to himself. 

Suddenly Plo’s half-chestplate, engineered to fit over robes, seemed much less necessary. 

“I might need a full suit of armor then,” he mentioned to his children. 

Wolffe suddenly hugged him. 

“Buir, you just made this entire mission worth it, even if it lasts a year,” he said. 

Plo recalled just how vehement his men had been about his wearing armor in the first year of the war. They had become less vocal about it, but apparently still felt strongly. 

“I’m glad,” he murmured. 

They straightened out their robes, somewhat self-consciously in Wolffe’s case, and prepared to go to dinner. 

The dinner was frosty, to say the least. Protocol dictated that a parent was to sit in between their children, with their elder child on the right and younger child on the left. Despite this, they were seated apart, Plo at separate ends of the table than his children. He was placed next to Representative Elnorsdottr, who seemed somewhat apologetic, but of the opinion that tensions would ease over the next few days. His children were seated next to Representative Camson and his children. 

It was a long dinner, with many courses that Plo couldn’t eat and little conversation. However, late in the meal, the monotony was broken by a yell from Katooni. 

...

Katooni was simply irritated. She had to sit next to Wesdin, the Dusti boy, and listen to his opinions about everything. They weren’t particularly articulate or kind. 

At least his father seemed to be nice, and tried to include Katooni in conversation about local events and customs. 

After the third time that Wesdin inferred that she and her brother were not really related, to louder and louder growls from Wolffe, Representative Camson finally intervened. 

“Wesdin, if you are not able to treat the children of other ambassadors with respect, leave the banquet. I should have taken your sister with me this time,” he said tiredly. 

Wesdin’s face shifted from smug to hateful to petulant in quick succession, and he sulkily slid back his chair and left the room. 

The Representative turned to them and slumped his shoulders. 

“I apologize for the actions of my son. I don’t know where he got those ideas from,” the Representative said. He looked tired. 

Katooni inclined her head graciously. 

“None of us are responsible for the actions of others,” She said, “I accept your apology.”

Wolffe finally relaxed next to her. Well, relaxed was the wrong word. He simply tensed less. 

The Representative nodded gratefully, and then gave her a considering yet respectful look. 

“You have excellent self-discipline,” he mentioned, “you have obviously had training for diplomacy.” 

Katooni found herself nodding. 

“Yes, Representative, children in the Temple are trained to resolve disputes of nearly any variety,” Katooni replied. 

The Representative turned to Wolffe, next. 

“And you would be an excellent arbiter, young man,” he said thoughtfully. 

Wolffe eyes went wide. No one had ever told him he would be good at diplomacy, just that he had to do it. 

“Why do you say that, sir?” He asked. 

The Representative grinned. 

“You have a presence, boy! You can exude authority as easily as breathing! I know professional negotiators who would kill to have your bearing!”

“Side effect of my training,” Wolffe shrugged, “I trained as a soldier all my life until Buir adopted me.”

Representative Camson went very still. 

“When did your training start?” He asked. 

“I was about two, so four in natborn years,” Wolffe mentioned cautiously. Katooni couldn’t help the shiver of horror at the thought of Wolffe the size of the Littles she read stories to, being forced to run and shoot and fight. 

“And you were trained as a soldier?” Representative Camson was horrified, Katooni could tell. Poor Wolffe was incredibly uncomfortable, so she decided to cut in. 

Every Padawan had been told the wording to use to explain the clones, both for their protection and the Jedi’s.

“The Kaminoan facility used methods that no member of the Republic knew of or condoned until its discovery by Master Kenobi at the beginning of the war, just before Wolffe graduated. They were funded by a rogue Jedi with the help of known traitors to the Republic and created without the Senate’s or the Jedi’s knowledge or consent. As soon as we realized what was going on, we dispatched a Jedi Master to ensure the clones were given treatment compatible with the Republic Sentient Rights commission,” she said. 

Representative Camson was still looking at her in horror. She leaned closer to Wolffe, and he put his arm over her shoulders in support. 

“And you still follow the Jedi after that was done to you?” He questioned faintly. 

“The Jedi rescued us from a watery haran (3) that claimed too many of my brothers before they arrived. And not only did they rescue us, they loved us, more than anyone ever has or will. They made us their family,” he said through clenched teeth, “And you making implications about my Buir irritates me.”

He gently pulled Katooni closer to him, and she leaned against his side.

“This is my little sister, my vod’ika (4). She wears our armor, in our colors, and proudly. She calls us her brothers, and she means it. She reads bedtime stories to the preteen Clones to make sure they won’t be scared. There’s no other natborn that’ll do that, outside the Jedi. For that alone, she and her people have earned my loyalty. Stop insulting them,” he growled. 

Katooni was genuinely touched. She only did what she thought everyone should do. 

The Representative blinked, nodded thoughtfully, and went back to eating. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t too awkward. 

...

The dessert course came, a sweet cake-like confection with a hint of nut in the frosting. It wasn’t bad, but seemed a bit rich for Wolffe’s taste. It was better than rations, but then so was everything. The Representative, however, took one bite and started turning red and swelling up. 

“Medic!” Katooni immediately shouted, turning the Representarive into a recovery position and tilting his head back to help him get air. Wolffe held him down gently so he didn’t hurt himself when he started thrashing, and bellowed for the Medic again in the voice he used when he needed to be heard across an active battlefield. Katooni used what little Force healing she knew to try and keep the swelling down around his airways, and switched off when Master Plo took over with a relieved expression. 

The medical aide arrived just after Master Plo, holding an anti-inflammation hypo, a general antidote, and a pack of bacta. He applied them in quick succession, and the Representative started to breathe a little easier. Wolffe let go as soon as he felt it was safe, aware that he was in a compromising position with a foreign dignitary, and retreated out of the medic’s space to stand by her. 

Wolffe was in combat mode, he didn’t care if this emergency was an accident or not; he began scanning the room and noticed one of the waitstaff sneaking towards the door. 

He tapped Katooni’s bracer and nodded towards the man. Then he tapped his foot three times, about a second apart each. On the third tap, they both set off running. 

He was so glad he’d taught her the Wolfpack battle signals. 

Unfortunately, the suspect saw them coming. There were drawbacks to the armor and robes in that they were very visible. He started to run, but he wasn’t faster than a Jedi Padawan and a determined Clone Commander. 

They caught up with him just outside the main door, and Wolffe executed a very satisfying flying tackle. When the suspect was still stunned by 200 kilos of armored, robed soldier slamming into him, Katooni tied him up with some cord from her belt and recited his rights to him. By the time the local security officers showed up, the suspect was subdued and legally arrested. All they had to do was take him into their custody. 

By the time they made it back Buir, the Representative looked much better, though Buir was still monitoring his health with the Force.

He looked up when he saw them. 

“Excellent capture, you two. The med-sled is on the way,” he intoned in a deliberately mild voice. He always loved using Clone slang when those around him least expected it. 

The Representative blinked at him, probably not familiar with the phrase. However, Camson simply shrugged and continued counting his breaths; five seconds in, three seconds out. 

Representative Elnorsdottr was sitting next to him, with a thumb on his pulse. She and Plo started talking in low voices, but with a reassuring overtone. 

The local medical transport arrived quickly, and professional emergency medics took over the scene. They strapped Camson to a field stretcher and whisked him away to their vehicle and to the hospital. His daughter rode with him, holding his hand. 

Once Representative Camson had been rushed out, Representative Elnorsdottr turned to Buir. 

“We owe you and your children a great debt, Master Jedi,” she said, “They have excellent training, and so do you.”

Buir nodded and smiled. 

“I am happy to be of service,” He rumbled neutrally. 

“I don’t think there’s any point in continuing the dinner,” Elnorsdottr explained, “So I would like to wish you a good night, and retreat to my quarters to rest and reassure my children. They are a bit shaken after the attack.”

“There is no possibility of an accidental allergic reaction?” Buir asked regretfully. 

Elnorsdottr shook her head. 

“No,” she said grimly, “Both Camson and I went over all courses of the meal in planning to check for allergens that would affect ourselves and our children. We also sent the meal ingredients to your healers on Dantooine to check for your safety. This was not accidental. I suspect the young man your children so efficiently apprehended has something to do with this.”

Buir smiled at Wolffe and Katooni. Wolffe couldn’t help but smile back, a little. 

“I’m that case, Representative, I would also bid your children and yourself a good night,” Buir bowed warmly. 

They were all thoughtful as they walked back to their apartment. If Buir hugged Katooni and Wolffe a little bit longer than normal when he wished them goodnight, neither of them objected. 

...

The next morning dawned with news. The waiter that Katooni and Wolffe had apprehended was an assassin for the Trade Federation.

“Them? Again?” Wolffe growled. The Federation had executed some neat political maneuvering and had come out of the war with sanctions, but had not been dissolved. According to Chancellor Mas Amedda, they were the victims as much as anyone was. Wolffe called banthakark on that one. Show him a Trade Federation flunky that had lost his karking eye to a karking Sith, and then he would admit they were victims. 

Apparently, they didn’t want Rurasi to manufacture their own goods instead of paying for Federation ones.

The next bit of news, however, was good. Plo was messaged by Representative Elnorsdottr and Representative Camson that the negotiations would continue after firstmeal. He was glad, and hoped they would be quick. 

Firstmeal wasn’t a banquet so much as a small informal buffet, which Plo couldn’t help but be grateful for. All the catering staff were triple-vetted, and it was harder to poison one person when they served themself. Plo was seated with his children this time, to his delight. Watching Wolffe’s blissful expression when he tried flopcakes for the first time was a joy. 

They needed to get everyone off of rations on Dantooine. It would be great fun to introduce the Clones to actual food. 

The negotiations went well. Representative Camson, who was well-recovered, and Representative Elnorsdottr were actually good friends, Plo learned. They were thoroughly professional in representing their interests, but during lunch break they talked of recent vacations and caught each other up on what went on in their families and their spouses. 

They enjoyed hearing stories of his own family too, like the time Sinker tried to prank him and Wolffe with a bucket of paint and instead colored Mace Windu and Ponds bright green for a day. Representative Camson even had the name of a good hobby shop where he could buy his sons some embroidery floss, paint, and other craft materials. 

The negotiations were complete just before dinner, and Plo was able to join his children again to eat. Wolffe fell in love with bantha steak, and Katooni enjoyed the imported Calmari shallots. 

His children had expensive taste. 

The meal concluded with a small awards dinner, one of the self-congratulatory kinds that politicians all over the galaxy threw themselves. There were speeches, and small golden bracelets and coins passed out in celebration of the treaty, and a truly decadent dessert made of muja fruit and some kind of local melons. 

But the highlight of the dinner, in Plo’s enlightened opinion, wasn’t the interminable speeches or the small trinkets or even the dessert. Though it truly was a lovely dessert. 

No, it was when Representative Camson walked up to him with a smile afterward, watching Wolffe fuss with Katooni’s tunic a few steps away. She’d stained it with some kind of sauce that stood out in a bright pink from the brown of her sleeve. 

Wolffe was trying to wipe it away with the fabric of his own robe sleeve. Plo had a sneaking suspicion that he was not getting that spare set of robes back. He couldn’t say he minded at all.

“Those are quite the kids you have there, Master Jedi,” Camson said with a small smile, “They are a credit to you.”

If Plo’s smile was any larger, he’d break the seal on his mask. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Mandalorian: parent. Plo adopted all his troops and everyone else who stood still long enough in the first part of this series, Exodus Flight.  
> 2\. Mandalorian: siblings  
> 3\. Mandalorian: cosmic destruction, devastation, the equivalent of hell  
> 4\. Mandalorian: younger sibling, with an affectionate connotation


End file.
